


Keys

by Hermaline75



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Attempted Romance, Can't think of a better way to put it, Denial of Feelings, F/F, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Incest, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-17 13:05:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13659585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermaline75/pseuds/Hermaline75
Summary: Thomas is away on businessBut someone else wants to give Lucille gifts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I always mean to write stuff for Femslash February and then I never find the time or the inspiration or something, so slightly late but anyway here is some underbaked canon-diversion Lucille/Edith nonsense.

"I have to go."

He'd said it about sixty times before leaving, trying to convince her it was true even though it blatantly wasn't. There was no need for Thomas to be the one meeting potential investors in person. He could easily delegate it to one of the foremen.

And yet, here she was almost a week later. Alone. Even though he knew how much strain it put on her. Brought back bad memories, bad thoughts.

Well... Not entirely alone. Edith had packed Thomas off with a soft kiss and had fussed over his scarf, telling him to take care of himself and to stay warm and to write. And now she moved around the house freely, humming gently to herself, wrapped in layer upon layer of thick, beautiful woolen capes over her silk gowns.

"I hadn't expected England to be so cold," she would say. "I thought you got all that tropical air across the ocean."

Lucille shivered under her blankets, so much colder with only one body, and tried to ignore the howling of the February wind through the house. They were already so low on coal from testing the engine that she daren't burn any that wasn't absolutely necessary.

At this rate, she'd have to go and beg for firewood in the village. What a sight that would be, the proud Lady Sharpe reduced to asking favours...

Somehow, she got to sleep, though her anger seemed to only intensify through the night, lacing up her dress and plaiting her hair slightly too tightly and wearing her coat indoors the next morning. The faint, harsh smell of snow was reaching her, the cold draught swirling about her stocking feet. There was no place for appearances now. Warmth took precedence.

Besides, the only man she'd ever made an effort with her appearance for had seen fit to abandon her to this frigid season, left her with barely a reason to get out of bed...

Edith was already awake and in the kitchen, gloved hands wrapped around a steaming cup while a pan bubbled lightly on the stove. She'd learned to make porridge quickly; if she wasn't an interloper, Lucille might almost be impressed.

"The tea is fresh," she said softly. "I couldn't find your special tin, but I hope the ordinary one will do. And breakfast is nearly ready."

Lucille gave it a quick stir and set about damping the stove.

"It's edible," she said. "That's enough. We need to save all the fuel we can."

She heard Edith stammering behind her as she fetched two bowls, ladling out the thin liquid.

"But it's snowing."

"Yes," Lucille said. "And if it grows heavy, we could easily become trapped and unable to fetch more."

Not to mention the financial issues. Still, Edith looked very contrite.

"Of course," she said. "You're right. I'm still not used to being so far from other people."

Ah, the joys of city life. Whatever might be said of Allerdale, at least they were not breathing other people's smog.

All the same, tea was good and porridge was good - salt for her, fruit preserve for Edith - filling and warming. And it was only upon carefully rinsing the dishes in cold water that she spotted it. A little parcel on the windowsill, standing out in brown paper against the blown snow outside.

A gift?

She tried to be subtle in taking it down, slipping it inside her coat in an attempt to avoid Edith spotting it. Really, it was ridiculous of Thomas to be so very blatant with his wife's sharp eyes...

"Gloves seem a good idea," she said. "I shall just be a moment fetching my own."

Hidden in her room, she dared to open it, curious. It was a plain little wrapping, but unmistakable really. A gift. It was merely missing a ribbon or label.

Inside was a small key made in marzipan, the details picked out in red dye.

Oh, Thomas, what an extravagance! What a ridiculous thing...

How she'd always loved marzipan, the little crumbs of it they managed to steal as children. The sweetness, the texture, the clinging smell...

She carefully broke off a tiny piece and let the taste flow over her tongue, rewrapping the rest to save and savour later on.

When Thomas got home, she'd have to give him a stern few words about money, even if the thoughtfulness did bring heat to her cheeks and a smile to her lips.

It clearly showed on her face, for though she didn't comment on it, Edith kept glancing her way across the parlour floor, pleased by how happy she was. It was a great shame really that she had to be kept from the truth. Lucille found herself desirous of female company sometimes, wanting to gossip and maybe boast a little. It was the time of year for such things, after all. To share love stories.

"Tell me about your society in New York, Edith," she asked. "We met them all so briefly. Tell me of Dr McMichael. I fear I was barely able to speak with him. We must write at some point."

The man had clearly admired Edith greatly - and who wouldn't? That smooth skin and shining hair, delicate features and soft pink lips were enough to drive almost anyone to distraction.

"Oh... Well, Alan is a dear friend," Edith said, perhaps implying that his romantic interest had not been entirely welcome. "And very intelligent and well read. But his sister, Eunice... Well, she's such a beautiful woman. I expect to hear of her engagement any day now."

Lucille had to restrain a laugh. Eunice, a great beauty? She was not plain by any means, but she was hardly about to have ships launched in her name. And besides, her age was only going up by the day. The window for marriage would likely close soon.

"I did not know you and Miss McMichael were so close."

Edith's cheeks flooded with a deep shade of pink, almost cerise or magenta, definitely embarrassed.

"Oh, we weren't. In fact, she, er... She did not much like me, I think. I offended her once by mistake and she never forgot it and never forgave me."

"Ooh, how?" Lucille asked. "Did you tell her that her jewels were oversized and gaudy? Or that just because one has the option to wear white taffeta, it may not be the most flattering of choices?"

Edith giggled, covering her face.

"No!" she said. "No, it was just a... a misunderstanding, that's all."

A strange suspicion began to enter Lucille's mind. So Edith thought Eunice a great beauty and a fine catch and had once made a mistake with her? Perhaps by thinking Eunice returned her admiration.

Now that was an interesting thought. Edith was a strange little thing. She might be unusual in this way too.

Clearly this was worthy of further investigation.

Lucille began testing her theory by letting their hands brush just a little. Small enough to make it seem accidental, but definitely more than they usually did.

A long time ago, Thomas had read to her from a scientific journal which proclaimed that experiments should be repeatable with the same result each time. And every time they touched, Edith went a little bit flushed. Clear evidence in favour of her hypothesis.

It was quite adorable in a way and Lucille spent most of the evening teasing her before retiring to bed, all the warmer for having another little taste of marzipan before drifting off.

By the next morning, she had decided to play with Edith further, seeing how far she could push, slipping an arm around her waist when they answered the door to one of the men of the village.

"Some post for you, ladies. And I thought it best to bring you some of our spare logs for the fire. They say the weather is going to get worse before the thaw."

"Oh, don't worry about us," Lucille said, squeezing Edith just a little. "We'll just keep warm together while Sir Thomas is away."

Edith was bright red as she gave the man a few pennies for his trouble, though it might have been just the chill wind bringing blood to her cheeks.

"What was the mail?" Lucille asked after she had put the basket of wood down by the fire.

"It's for you."

Hmm... So it was. And in an unfamiliar hand.

It was a large envelope too, the seal cracking under her fingers.

"It's music," she said, pulling it out. "New sheet music."

 _Valzer delle chiavi._ Waltz of the Keys. Aha... No note, but she could guess who it was from.

She took it to the piano and began to work out phrase after phrase, little by little. She didn't even notice her fingers getting cold until she heard Edith gasp behind her.

"Look at the snow."

Oh... Oh, 'worse' didn't begin to describe it. It was falling in great white flakes, like enormous moths or butterflies. Lucille hurried to the hall to find a sizable drift already on the hall floor, ferns of ice spiralling out from it.

The top floor was going to be absolutely freezing if this kept up. And evidently the very same thought had entered Edith's head as she cleared her throat over their dinner of cold roast chicken and potatoes.

"All the heat is down here," she said, glancing at Lucille and then away. "And I think if we bring down blankets then we can... preserve warmth better together. We don't know how long the snow will last."

Lucille's first reaction was to refuse, hide away in her own space, but then again, it was so cold...

"You might be right," she admitted. "Two are better than one for warmth, I believe."

It was almost fun. Building a nest. Covering the perfect parlour floor with pillows and blankets, duvets and sheets, making a mess... Mother would not approve and so Lucille approved immensely.

She'd just brought down her last blanket when she spotted the package sitting neatly on her pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter to come. Eventually. Honest.


	2. Chapter 2

"What's that?" Lucille heard herself snap. "Where did you get it?"

Edith was kneeling, poking up the fire, and turned in alarm, her slender frame standing out in silhouette even through the thick folds of her nightdress.

"It's for you," she said, shakily. "It's a gift for you."

"But where did you get it?"

She was confused, baffled by Lucille's anger, a lost frown on her perfect brows as she turned properly, moving forward in a crouch.

"I thought... I thought you understood. They're gifts for you... from me. I thought you understood..."

What? But she'd thought...

An excuse. Any excuse...

Was it really so strange to receive gifts from a brother? There was no one else she could say after all.

"I thought they were from Thomas," she said truthfully. "Music and marzipan..."

"You love those things. I wanted to give you things you loved."

"Why?"

She watched as Edith went pink, looking away, biting her lower lip. Was this a performance? There was something strange about it. Like she was trying to hide something.

"I wanted to make you happy," Edith said in the smallest voice. "Sometimes I see you and you seem so sad..."

Lucille almost growled. She did _not_ need Edith's pity and she did _not_ need Edith's gifts. She did not need Edith.

She crouched to pick up the last present, curious despite herself, keeping a careful watch on Edith's face. The way her lips parted, the half motion she made to try to prevent her taking it.

A facade, indeed, and one Edith was used to maintaining. These were not gifts of friendship. These were because she...

She really did feel for her. An attraction. An affection, even.

Lucille thought back to her reaction to their touching the day before. She'd assumed it was merely the proximity of a woman, not that there was some kind of personal, specific dimension to it. But these little presents... They had been bought or ordered before she started her experiment. They were gifts Edith had bought for her without any hope of reciprocation. Because she liked her.

That was an entirely different situation.

And one that she could potentially twist to her advantage.

She carefully unwrapped the final gift. A small box and within it a tiny jewelled key. Silver and red. Purely ornamental, of course.

"It's beautiful," she heard herself say. "Thank you. Will you help me with the clasp?"

This was cruel and she knew it. Making Edith think she didn't know, that she hadn't realised. Making her come close and even touch the back of her neck with her poor, freezing fingers. Feeling goose bumps bloom across her skin before she let her braid fall back into place.

"We should try to warm up, I should think," Lucille said, giving Edith a little smile before blowing out the candles, leaving them with just the glow of the fire.

It shone on Edith's hair and face as she slipped under the covers, looking unsure, shaken. Just as Lucille wanted her to be as she moved alongside her, closer than she likely expected.

Closer than was strictly proper.

For a few moments, she let it lie, letting the blankets grow warm from their bodies, trying to be comfortable despite the hard wood so close through the cushions and blankets. It was lucky the floor in here was still solid. Then again, it hadn't had years of rain and snow to rot it like the hallway had.

Edith's breathing seemed off. Artificially laboured. Like she was trying to keep it slow and steady.

If she touched her now, no doubt her heartbeat would be quick and desperate. Like a mouse's. Like a tiny, frightened thing.

Maybe Lucille was a little surprised that the idea of touching her didn't cause her any distaste. Even thinking of touching her intimately, she felt... Unusually intrigued.

Love was a good manipulator. She knew it was. Once a woman fell for Thomas, she was easy to steer. Even between the two of them, she knew sometimes they used their love as a weapon. She made him do what she wanted; he made her do what he didn't want to do himself.

Was sex likewise a good tool? She wasn't sure. They had never tried to use it as one. It was an act of giving, of sharing. A means to gift themselves to one another.

Still... she had her suspicions about what exactly had gone on between her brother and his wife.

Maybe it was an excuse, but giving Thomas a taste of his own medicine gave her another reason to take the opportunity.

"You shouldn't be so extravagant with me," she said softly. "These must have been expensive gifts."

She could see Edith in the faint light, her eyes so wide.

"I thought you deserved something nice."

"And I am grateful. Still, I wish I could give you something. What do you want, Edith?"

She'd moved even closer, feeling the heat of her directly. Her lips were pressed together, terrified.

"I don't know," she whispered.

"Surely there must be something. Don't you deserve to have what you want?"

Chest heaving, Edith rolled over to look at her, worried about what she was asking, her eyes dropping to her lips.

And that was all the confirmation Lucille needed.

She leant forward and let their lips touch. Gently. Just a brush. And then again, longer, parting hers slightly to sneak a taste. Edith was soft, yielding at first, but then bold. Wanting. Arching closer, but still not daring to touch.

Well, that wouldn't do.

Lucille reached for her, finding her hip first and starting to pull up her nightdress, feeling the faint whimper against her lips.

"Is this what you want?"

"Mm-hm..."

"Good."

It was intoxicating. She'd never been like this before; experienced and dominant. With Thomas, they had learned together. Taught themselves. But now...

Now she had Edith clinging to her shoulder as she reached between her legs, trailing her fingertips over her inner thighs. Welcoming her. Wanting her.

"Has anyone ever touched you here, Edith?"

"Only..." and she blushed, visibly embarrassed. "Only Thomas."

Ah. Confirmation. And maybe a few hours ago that would have made Lucille's blood boil, but somehow she felt a strange competitiveness. Like she could beat him at his own game.

"I thought you preferred women?" she teased.

"I... I desire women more than men but I've never... Ah!"

Lucille had finally touched her properly, slipped a finger up to her slit.

So warm... Warm and wet, clearly aroused. Crying out at the sensations Lucille was managing to bring her, teasing her with one finger with firm strokes but no precision. Not giving her what she really wanted.

"You've never had someone do this with you."

Gasping, a shaking head. She was so beautiful like this, her hair tousled and face so open. Like an angel.

Later, Lucille would realise that somewhere along the way she stopped touching Edith as an experiment and began trying to please her because she wanted to. It excited her. Having the control over what she felt, and how quickly. Whether she'd reach her peak at all.

In the moment, she didn't think about that. She just enjoyed the sights and sounds of her growing more and more desperate, gasping, begging...

There was power in feeling Edith's body quiver beneath her touch, tightening and tightening and then suddenly going lax and relaxed, sighing in utter contentment.

She'd done that, she thought as they kissed again, wiping her fingers on Edith's nightdress. She had made that happen.

"Has that warmed you up a little?"

Edith laughed, breathless, still clinging to her.

Lucille rejected her attempt to reciprocate though.

"In the morning, perhaps," she said.

After all, maybe Thomas would return once the snow eased off. She'd hate for him to miss out on this fascinating new discovery.

She fell asleep with Edith in her arms and a strange new feeling in her heart.

Like something had been unlocked.


End file.
